A Tradition
by SandraDeee
Summary: A new tradition begins. Jake/Heather centric.
1. Part 1: A Tradition Begins

Author's Notes:  A special thanks goes out to Skyrose, my esteemed beta reader.  
Warnings: mild profanity  
Disclaimer:  Obviously I don't own the Jericho characters, but if I did, you can look at this story to see just what I would do with them. ;)

* * *

**Part One:  A Tradition Begins**

_October 31, 2006  
Four weeks after the bombs_

Bailey's Tavern was bustling with activity as some of the crowd that had earlier been at Jericho's annual Halloween party on Main Street filtered in, eager to escape reminders of a world that was far more terrifying than ghosts, goblins, and witches. Heather Lisinski had found herself gravitating to this place, as well. Though she was not spending the evening with anyone in particular, she didn't think she could bear the quiet of her small house.

She wanted a sugar rush, to see funny costumes, and she longed for the days when Halloween worries involved parents investigating candy and enduring squabbling siblings. Since she was not apt to gorge herself on sugar or see as many people dressed up this year, she figured she'd indulge in the next best thing: darts. Going to the pub across the street from campus to throw darts and play pool had been her standby in college when her dorm room seemed too tight or her workload too heavy. It would be one small comfort she could allow herself.

This was not what Halloween was supposed to be, but she would make do.

What a crazy few days it had been! They'd tried to go on with business as usual after the EMP, adjusting their lives to accommodate the lack of what few conveniences they had left to them. Yet the arrival of Jonah Prowse and the subsequent jailbreak of Mitchell Cafferty had set many on edge, as if with the upcoming winter and limited supplies they didn't have enough concerns, road gangs aside.

Emily, in particular, had been upset by her father's arrival. Heather had spent the bulk of the afternoon listening as Emily detailed her father's sins, relived her brother's death, and reiterated that Jake Green was bad news. Emily had been so hurt by her past, but as Heather listened, she wondered if her friend's perspective on what happened was skewed. How could the decision Emily's brother made to rob a store and his subsequent death be Jake's fault? Wasn't her brother a grown man who made a choice?

Heather sighed. Maybe she was the one with the skewed perspective. Was it possible she had romanticized Jake Green so much in her mind that she couldn't see him for what he really was? Yet when she considered his repeated acts of bravery and selflessness, how could this be the same man Emily described as a coward?

What it came down to was Heather didn't want to think the worst of Jake. Not only that, but with evidence pointing to the contrary, she _couldn't_ think the worst of him either.

Not that her opinion mattered. She doubted that Jake ever slowed down enough to notice her anyway, let alone care one way or the other what she thought of him. Besides, she had far more important concerns than getting a boyfriend. There was that small matter of surviving the winter and beyond.

But since she couldn't solve that dilemma at the moment, either, Heather focused on something she could do. Dart in hand, she threw, smiling in satisfaction as the dart made contact with the bulls eye. The big problems could wait. For now, she'd enjoy the little things in life.

* * *

Jake Green hadn't intended to go to Bailey's that night, but the thought of returning to his parents' house seemed less and less appealing. Once he went home, he knew his father would ask about the exchange with Jonah that didn't work out as planned. Jake would have to tell him that Jonah's men organized a jail break. Now, not only did they not have the food that had been promised the town, they also didn't have their prisoner. And Johnston Green, being Johnston Green, would attempt to pull himself from his sick bed to handle the matter. Jake had spent so many years being a screw up in his father's eyes; he didn't want this to be yet another reason for his father to distrust his judgment.

In retrospect, it had been surprisingly easy to get Jonah to agree to the deal. Mitch Cafferty would be returned to him in exchange for the food Jonah's men stole and a promise to keep his business away from Jericho. Why he expected that in a post-apocalyptic world Murphy's Law would be null and void was beyond him. Jake knew better.

Gray Anderson pushed his agenda hard. According to Gray, negotiating with men like Jonah Prowse was an invitation for more trouble, a sign of weakness.

While Jake didn't have any illusions about Jonah's virtues, one thing Jake could say for him was that Jonah never lied to him. Even when Jake would rather have heard lies, Jonah talked straight. His father would've called it honor among thieves; Jake called it mutual respect.

And now Jake was a liar in Jonah's eyes, too.

So, yes, going home was less than appealing.

When Jake walked in to Bailey's, he did not purposely seek Heather, but almost immediately, his eyes focused on her, finding her among the crowd. She was pretty in a wholesome, natural way. Perky. Positive. Smart. Fresh. Quick on her feet and with her hands. Jake found that they worked well together, and being near her was comfortable. Heather Lisinski was one of the few people in Jericho who didn't look at him like she was waiting for him to screw up.

Without consciously deciding, he gravitated to her. "Mind if I join you?"

Heather nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard Jake Green's voice. Her back had been turned away from the entrance of Bailey's, and she'd not noticed him come in. She spun around with a dart in hand, sharp end outward.

"Easy there," he said wryly lifting his hands in a feigned surrender. A lopsided smile formed on his lips despite the events of the day, the typical chaos that passed for usual nowadays.

"Sorry," Heather replied looking at the dart secured between her fingers before lowering it hastily. "Guess I'm a little jumpy."

Jake lifted his eyebrows knowingly, turned to the partition that served the dual purpose of housing the arrows and separating the gaming area from the dining area of the establishment, and retrieved three feather-flanked arrows for himself. "Nothing like Gray Anderson running down the middle of Main Street during a Halloween party, nearly opening fire."

Heather shook her head and spoke in a voice that Jake could only assume was her best teacher voice. "You jumped out in front of him. You know, he could've decided to make you his new target."

Jake was nonchalant. "Could've. But he didn't."

Heather bit her bottom lip and turned from him, aimed at the target, and launched her dart, watching as it hit just south of the bulls eye. "It's safe to assume that this conversation isn't new to you. Your poor mom! You've must've given her a run for her money."

"Still do."

Heather stepped aside and Jake threw a dart, making contact just above the center of the target. As the dart struck the board, it hit with such force that it made a loud thump, loud enough that both could hear it over the gentle roar of conversations taking place around the establishment.

"Not bad," Heather commented.

"Are you up for a game?"

"What are the stakes?"

Jake grinned. He would've taken Heather for the type who would play just for the hell of it. The fact that she had a competitive streak in her gave him a strange sense of satisfaction and piqued his curiosity. "Loser buys drinks."

Heather's eyes narrowed. "You're on. So are we starting at 501 or 301?"

* * *

Sometime later, Jake and Heather approached the bar, Heather with a swagger and Jake with a grimace. Sliding onto a barstool, Jake said to Mary, "Set Heather up with whatever she wants." She flashed a triumphant smile at him. "And I'll have what she's having."

"What do you have left?" Heather asked the curly haired bartender.

Mary looked from Heather to Jake, not entirely surprised to see the two of them together. She remembered seeing them on the night of the grill-it-before-it-spoils barbecue a few weeks back. "I've got some homebrew I've been perfecting. Up for being a guinea pig?"

Heather looked to Jake. "Are you?"

Jake deferred to Heather. "I'm sure I've had worse."

Mary frowned, though her eyes twinkled good-naturedly. "Hey! I'm standing right here!"

"We'll take two of whatever you call it," Heather interjected. Directing her thumb in Jake's direction, she added, "And it's on his tab."

"Coming right up," Mary said, glancing at Jake. "And I'll be sure to give myself a nice, fat tip."

Jake eyed Heather who still looked inordinately pleased with herself. "You cheated."

Her mouth gaped open. "Did not!" Heather retorted with mock indignation. "It not my fault you're easily distracted!"

"Except that you provided the distraction as I was throwing my darts."

"If you can't stand the heat…."

Jake propped his elbows on the bar remembering how she'd brushed past him. "So I wouldn't have figured you as a Bailey's type of girl."

Her eyebrows rose, and there was a hint of a challenge in her voice as she spoke. "And how exactly did you have me pegged?"

Jake opened his mouth to answer, thought better of it, and said with a smile instead, "I think I'm gonna shut up while I'm ahead."

Heather shrugged. "I come here. _Sometimes._ I mean, I don't close the place every night. Makes the parents of my students feel funny if they see their child's teacher throwing back shots." Mary placed glasses in front of each of them and poured a clear liquid from a glass jar. "'Does Ms. Lisinski have the moral fortitude to teach my little Sally?'That's the least of their worries now. "

"You know," he began conspiratorially, "if they see you here with me, they're gonna talk, too."

"Well, then, it's a good thing I gave them something to talk about when I kicked your ass in darts." Heather picked up the shot glass, downed the liquid in one gulp, and felt her throat catch on fire. "Holy cow," she sputtered. "I'm getting my mouth washed out with soap!"

Jake downed his shot and set the glass back on the counter with an exaggerated motion. He seemed none the worse for the wear from the alcohol. "Bet I could drink you under the table."

Heather laughed nervously. "Let's not go there. I know my limits."

Jake motioned for another shot, and Mary filled his glass.

Heather turned on her stool to face him. Jake couldn't help but notice the view of her legs that her--what he could only describe as a teacher dress--gave him. She remained completely unaware of his peering as he forced his eyes upward.

"So. Halloween. Good ol' October 31," Heather began. "How would you be spending a typical Halloween?"

Heather's question took him by surprise, but what surprised Jake more was the fact that he didn't have a quick and ready answer for her. He'd been wandering so long from one place to the next. The last few weeks were the only time he'd felt like he was part of something of importance, of purpose. "Don't know. Don't know where I'd be or what I'd be doing. What about you?"

Heather was perplexed. She knew Jake was pretty tight-lipped when it came to talking about himself, but she had assumed Halloween would be a safe topic. Instead, he had turned the conversation back over to her. Hesitating momentarily, Heather finally responded. "Well, there's the usual internal struggle I have each year over whether to pass out candy, thereby contributing to the obesity epidemic plaguing our nation's youth, or whether to pass out toothbrushes." He looked at her with a baffled expression. "I'm kidding! I like to dress up, pass out candy. The good stuff. Not that yucky stuff that's gooey and melted by the next week."

"Good to know. Have any stashes left?"

"Wouldn't you like to know!" she laughed. "This Halloween is a lot different from last year's."

"Worse."

"Strange to say, but no. End of the world as we know it, notwithstanding. Last year, I went to a Halloween party and met a very dull investment banker that Emily thought would be a perfect match for me."

"That bad?"

She groaned. "I commented on his costume. I thought the pocket protector he wore was a really nice touch. Turns out it wasn't a costume."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. Guess that's what I get for stereotyping investment bankers as being the pin-striped suit types."

A comfortable silence fell between them before Heather broached the topic she knew had to be weighing on him. She thought that perhaps he would dodge her, but she couldn't let it pass. It was too important. "You're going to see Emily's dad tomorrow, aren't you?"

Jake didn't hesitate. "Have to. Can't let him get away with sending his men in to spring Mitch. Can't let him keep the food he stole."

"I--I've heard stories about Jonah Prowse. Don't suppose it would do any good to warn you to be careful. This town needs you." An involuntary shudder ran through her. "And I don't want to see you get hurt." The tiniest smile formed at the corner of her lips as she leaned forward and investigated the cut on his cheek, the result of a run in with Mitch Cafferty the day before. "Well, worse."

Jake's teeth grazed his bottom lip as he studied her. She was completely guileless, a quality that alternately attracted and scared the hell out of him. It had been a long time since someone cared about his well-being, since someone thought what he did mattered in a good way. "I'm not going to get myself killed."

The fact that Jake didn't promise to not get hurt didn't escape Heather's attention, but she would take what she could get. "You better not, Mister. Or else."

"Or else what?" he chuckled.

_Or else I'll have one less person who inspires me. _

_Or else your parents' hearts will break, and mine might, too. _

"Or else I'll have to find someone else whose ass I can kick in darts."

* * *

to be continued in Part 2


	2. Part 2: A Tradition Continues

**Author's Notes:** A special thanks goes out to Skyrose, my esteemed beta reader.

**Warnings:** mild profanity

**Disclaimer:** Obviously I don't own the Jericho characters, but if I did, you can look at this story to see just what I would do with them. ;)

* * *

**Part 2: A Tradition Continues**

_October 31, 2007  
thirteen months after the bombs_

If not for the grace of God, mechanical prowess, and problems bigger than herself, Heather Lisinski was certain she'd be a real-live (or would that be dead? she mused) ghost for Halloween. When she stopped working long enough to reflect on all that had happened, she had a difficult time believing it had been only a little more than a year since the bombs that forever altered their country. It seemed to be a lifetime ago when she rode back with her third graders from their field trip and witnessed history in the making.

How things had changed since then! For that matter, the changes wrought in the last six months alone were enough to make her head spin. Six months ago, Jericho and New Bern had just been at war, and Phil Constantino had put a bounty on her head. Strangely enough, now she was more valuable to Constantino alive than any debt of vengeance could repay.

Who would have imagined that Ms. Crossword-Puzzles-Light-Beer-and-Flannel-Pajamas herself would be knee deep in espionage? Like so many things in her life, she'd stumbled into her role as saboteur and spy unintentionally. A little repair work for Eric Green on old Oliver's Ham radio, a ridiculous dose of curiosity, and the next thing she knew, she was communicating with the outside, bypassing the sanctioned channels of the Allied States. And then it was as though a whole new world opened up for them. Things that the A.S.A. government would have preferred to keep hidden were brought to light, like the spread of the Hudson River Virus, the plundering of multiple towns by Ravenwood, the blind eye turned to the slave trade, the loss of freedoms in many places. It had taken the Cheyenne government time to realize that small towns like Jericho were comparing notes and spreading information from the United States. It had taken even longer for Cheyenne to scramble the channels they used, but as a contingency, Heather had a backup plan in place, one which ensured the continued communication of those who would oppose the Cheyenne government.

"Last night in town, Ms. Lisinski," Corporal Daimler said looking up at Heather from the table where he sat tinkering with some "new" used Ham radio parts Dale Turner had acquired on one of his shopping trips. "I know this has been your baby for a long time, but we've got it under control. You should go home and pack or spend time with friends." His voice was friendly but firm.

Heather looked around the room laden with communications equipment. It had once served as a storage space in the basement of Jericho High School. Now she affectionately referred to it as The Dungeon. Whether she was the prisoner or warden could be left up to the interpretation of those around her.

"Right. I should." Yet her agreement sounded so hollow in her ears. She'd already packed what few belongings she planned to take with her on her sojourn, and as for friends…

She still saw Emily from time to time, but those commonalities that had once brought them together, particularly the fact that they were about the only two young teachers in Jericho, no longer held tight. Though Heather had not completely left behind education—she taught basic mechanical skills a couple mornings a week to young people interested in learning—she had found a new calling, one that demanded much of her time. She'd been the voice of the resistance movement, helping to expedite communications, relaying information to eastern troops and neighboring towns alike; she was about to become the face of it, as well. Emily patrolled with the Rangers. She wielded a weapon far more effectively than many men that Heather knew. Emily was in the trenches, and Heather was in the basement. They may as well have been worlds apart.

At least they were on the same side.

Well, sort of.

Edward was gone. Heather wasn't conscious of when he ceased being 'Major Beck' to her and became 'Edward.' But he was Edward now. Edward with the piercing dark eyes and calm exterior that belied an inner turmoil that she could not soothe. Edward who tried to do the right thing, but like so many people failed. Edward who made her think darkness wasn't entirely closing in on them. Edward who held many personal demons of his own, many of which reared their ugly heads in the name of duty. She'd been so proud of him when he removed the A.S.A. patch from his uniform, and she'd been so disillusioned when she heard the full story of Jake's detainment and Edward's interrogation techniques some weeks later. She'd imagined him to be above the fray, that his honor could not allow such practices.

Her vivid imagination often got her in trouble.

Edward had been gone for awhile, securing the northwestern corner of Kansas along with the men and women under his command and others who joined in their cause. How nervous she'd been once Cheyenne figured out that the 10th Mountain Division had defected, even more so when the chatter that came across the airwaves indicated that other forces were coming to subdue the "traitors." Yet as more came, more were persuaded to leave the oversight of Cheyenne. Major Edward Beck would go down in history as a man of vision and courage—provided their side won the conflict.

And Heather continued to internally try to reconcile that version of the man with the one who had imprisoned Jake.

Heather did see Stanley and Mimi from time to time mostly because of the special project on which she'd been working in Stanley's barn. The memory of Stanley telling her, "Now that there's not a tank in my barn, you can keep it there" still made Heather feel conflicted. Was she supposed to laugh over the ridiculousness of the statement (who keeps a tank in a barn, anyway?) or be freaked out that tanks and other weaponry were accessible to fringe groups? When she'd heard about this rag-tag group of "Marines" who had shown up in Jericho, she had been surprised at the time, though as the months wore on and she heard more and more of and from the outside world, little surprised her anymore.

Was she asking for trouble by embracing this project? Every time she found herself bent over the hood of the classic Plymouth Roadrunner trying to replace parts that had been sloppily pilfered when abandoned in New Bern, Heather wondered if it was healthy or wise for her to take this on when so many other things needed doing. She tried to tell herself that the car was too much of a beauty to let go to ruin, but when she was not busy placating her psyche, she could admit that the reason the car was important to her was because it had been important to _him_. So she worked on restoring it, and in the process, she enjoyed the effortless camaraderie with Stanley and Mimi. It had not been an easy for time for them as they rebuilt the pieces of their lives, as they put back together the home that had been the place the two of them fell in love, the place Bonnie had been murdered, and the place they would raise their first child when he or she arrived into the world in four months' time.

Corporal Daimler looked at Heather with anticipation and spoke, interrupting her reverie. "So if you agree with me, what are you still doing here?"

Heather blinked. Sure she'd had many thoughts racing through her head, but it wasn't as though she'd been standing there _that _long. "When did you get so pushy?" she asked with a laugh.

An easy grin filled the man's features. "I learned from the best." Only four weeks in Jericho, and he had become quite attached to the woman who had served as part mentor, part slave driver. Heather Lisinski ran a tight ship, but she was damned good at what she did, partly because she was so likeable. He was ready for this. She had seen to it. "The night is young."

Heather shoved her hands in her jean pockets, still avoiding the inevitable. Here she knew what to expect. Out there—that was a different story. "It's Halloween, you know."

"Didn't realize."

"Yeah. Doesn't seems as important anymore, does it?" Halloween had once been one of her favorite holidays, but real life horrors were far more ghastly than any imaginary ones could be.

"Saw some folks celebrating another holiday of sorts."

Heather nodded. "It's good that they're back. What they did…" her voice trailed off as she remembered that day that Jake approached her, and they met with Mr. Hawkins who systematically laid before her the existence of a nuclear bomb in their midst, one that he possessed and needed her help in keeping hidden. Later when she found out that the bomb had been stolen and Jake and Mr. Hawkins had gone to retrieve it, she was afraid. Genuinely afraid. Perhaps she should have been more fearful of the consequences to the people against whom the bomb would have been used, and she _was_ concerned for them, but her overriding fear was that Jake wouldn't make it through the mission alive. He was daring to a fault, and she figured he'd already used about eight and a half of his nine lives. "…was very brave," she finished.

"I'll say. Changed the course of history. They're part of why I'm here and not out there somewhere following orders from Cheyenne." Corporal Michael Daimler was not part of the 10th Mountain Division; no, he was a member of the 4th Infantry Division from Fort Hood, Texas.

"Good luck, Mike."

"Same to you, Ms. Lisinski. I'll be seeing you—even if you won't be seeing me." His head tilted in the direction of the small, archaic television set situated in the corner of the room.

Heather nodded and started out the door, hesitated, and then continued on her way.

* * *

Heather had double-checked her packing list and found herself staring at her bags. _Some Halloween_. She walked to the kitchen and perused the mostly bare cupboards, hoping against hope that she'd find a chocolate bar she had overlooked. Halloween always brought out her sweet tooth. Finding nothing sweet, she closed the cupboard doors and wracked her brain. What had she done last Halloween?

The smallest of smiles fell upon her lips. _That's right._ She'd been at Bailey's, playing darts, and beating Jake Green mercilessly. She had been so satisfied when she saw the look of surprise on his face when she bested him again and again.

Darts sounded good. Maybe not as good as chocolate, but why not for old time's sake?

Sometime later, she had walked to the tavern. When she arrived, she waved at Mary, who smiled in return. No sooner had Heather made her way to the gaming area and slipped off her jacket did she hear, "Up for a game?"

That voice. So familiar.

"What are the stakes?" she asked, a broad smile crossing her features as she turned around to look at the man she had not seen in many months. Her heart did a somersault as he returned her smile with a lopsided grin.

He still affected her. Whether he should or not, he did.

"Loser buys the drinks."

Her eyebrows shot up as she moved closer to the new arrival. He held out his hand to her, and she took it. "You really are a glutton for punishment!" she laughed as their fingers intertwined, her small hand sheltered within his larger one.

And then, pulling her closer, Jake embraced her. It felt wonderfully contradictory to her. Warm and cold—warmth from his body, coolness from the fabric of his jacket. She clung to him, finally convincing herself that he was not an apparition before pushing aside the thought as silly. After all, she _did_ know that he was back. She just had not expected to see him.

Emotion caught in her voice. "It's good to see you, Jake."

"You, too, Heather." He had intended the embrace to be casual, but as he caught the scent of her hair and enjoyed the warmth of her body, he found himself holding on a moment longer than necessary or polite.

She seemed not to have noticed and offered no resistance. "I heard you were back. Everyone's been talking about it."

"Got back earlier today." He commented, pulling back slightly so he could look at her. She was much like he remembered. Same blue eyes the color of the Pacific on a sunny day. Same cute nose sprinkled with freckles. Same broad smile that made her dimples appear. Her hair was chin length now, shiny as always, and bouncy. During his time away, he would find his thoughts drift to her, wondering if she was safe, if she was happy. The last time he had seen her, he had secured her help by asking her to betray someone she cared for. He'd asked her to put her life on the line. He remembered the recrimination in her eyes, the disappointment, and hoped that she would eventually be able to forgive him. "Trick or treat?"

His tone was jovial, perhaps the most jovial Heather had heard since she returned after the New Bern War, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness in them.

"_Definitely_ a treat," she replied with certainty as she took a step back and studied him. His hair was longer than last time she'd seen him—the day he turned himself in for Goetz's murder, an act done to protect Stanley. Jake was taken into custody under Edward's orders, a hood placed over his head. She'd had that image of him in her mind for longer than she cared to remember; she was glad to replace it with this image of him, smiling, safe, okay. "I can't believe it! You look good!"

Jake laughed as he absently ran his hand over his head. "Thanks. I think."

She giggled giddily. Her head was spinning from the surprise of seeing him. "I'm sorry! That's sounded awful. I meant that for once you don't have a cut on your forehead, an abrasion on your cheek, a bruise on your jaw, a busted lip…" her voice trailed off.

"I've been staying out of trouble."

"Yeah, right," she replied, her tone and expression indicating that she was decidedly unconvinced.

He leaned forward as though to make a great confession. "Okay. I remembered to duck."

Heather nodded. "That's more like it."

"Ready for some ass kicking?" he asked retrieving darts from the dart rack.

"You're still delusional," she teased back.

As he watched her walk to the throwing line, he agreed that perhaps he was.

* * *

"Mary, if you'll get Heather whatever she likes. I'll have what she's having." He looked at Heather who sat on a stool next to him, looking pleased with herself.

"Déjà vu," she said with an exaggerated sigh of contentment.

He shook his head. "You look so damn smug."

"I think I've earned the right. That's two years in a row, buddy," she said playfully poking his arm.

Mary smiled knowingly from Jake to Heather. Heather was fighting the urge not to laugh at how stricken Jake looked over losing. Jake, on the other hand, had a sour expression on his face. Yet Mary could see in his eyes that his mood had lifted from when she and Eric and had seen him earlier in the day. "Still haven't learned your lesson," she remarked to Jake. "What'll it be, Heather?"

"How about some of your homebrew that Jake likes so much?" Heather replied dryly.

Jake lifted his hands up in protest. "What? Did you wait for me to come back from Texas so you could kill me?" he joked.

"I thought you could hold your liquor." There was a challenge in her voice.

Jake scoffed. "That stuff's not liquor; it's turpentine. And I could still drink you under the table."

Heather's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Everyone needs a talent. Right Mary?"

Mary poured two shots from a glass jar. "Oh no. I'm staying out of this one." With a wink, she turned to tend to other customers.

Jake glanced around. "I feel like I just left here, but everything's different. It _feels_ different."

Heather tilted her head. "Yeah. Mary's done some redecorating, courtesy of Ravenwood." Her cheerful expression turned darker, more contemplative.

"I should've been here," Jake murmured taking a sip of his drink.

"Hey, you did what you had to do, Jake. If you and Mr. Hawkins hadn't, think of what would have happened." Heather looked down, realized that she had unconsciously touched his arm for assurance, and let go.

Jake looked Heather squarely in the eyes. "I heard you helped change Major Beck's mind about us, about Jericho. Thank you for that."

Heather's face began to color. She didn't want Jake's praise, not where Edward Beck was concerned. "That computer had the proof. I didn't do anything, Jake."

"You made him look at it. Really look at it."

She lifted the glass to her lips and swallowed the liquid, still as potent as she remembered. "Edward is a good man. He would've gotten it right eventually."

_Edward_. The use of a familiar name, Beck's given name, jarred Jake. Much had changed in six months' time. Truth was, he didn't know what he would do if he saw Beck again. Jake felt like he owed him a fist in the nose and gratitude rolled in one. Jake had heard stories of how the 10th Mountain Division protected Jericho and northwestern Kansas, that the division stood between Cheyenne and the insurgents. Yet Jake couldn't shake the memory of Beck trying to break him, depriving him of sleep, of water. Dangling his loved ones like a carrot on a stick. Hiding behind his damned uniform and spurious orders. Jake tried to push aside the thought. There'd be time to work through all of that later.

"So, no Halloween party this year on Main Street," Jake began casually.

"No. Real life is scary enough, Gray decided." Heather's somber tone gave way to a mischievous one. "If you ask me, he just didn't want people to remember how he ran down the street with a loaded weapon, ready to fire into the crowd if need be."

Jake grinned. "I've missed you, Heather."

His confession startled her, but the start gave way to delight, working its way subtly into her consciousness. "Right back at you, Jake." She cleared her throat. "So, how long are you back?"

"Indefinitely. Stayed in Texas longer than I wanted."

"As I hear it, you didn't have much of a choice." Certain elements within the Texas government, understandably suspicious of Hawkins and Jake, had not viewed their actions as heroic. Oh, they brought the truth with them on that plane to Texas—and more than a planeload of trouble. Some wanted Texas to maintain its autonomy and proceed as a nation independent of the U.S. or A.S. governments, sidestepping the growing tensions.

If Jake thought getting the Texans on board was difficult—and this was after Chavez had been there for several weeks greasing the wheels—getting a plan of action was another beast altogether. Weeks spent strategizing, training troops for what they would encounter fighting on the homefront, and making contact with the east had not been easy, but it had been necessary.

"Wish everyone felt that way. Emily is still pretty pissed." Jake couldn't say that he really blamed her. He left for Texas without saying goodbye to her, just like he'd blown out of town five years before then without a word.

"She'll get over it," Heather encouraged, though Jake looked doubtful. "I mean, look at what the two of you have been through. She's not going to throw that away."

"No. That's my role," he grumbled.

"Once things get back to normal, it will get better. I mean it. Think about the positive changes in just the last six months alone. Cheyenne is getting pushed back further and further. The British have recognized Columbus as the capital of the United States, and other countries are bound to follow suit. And did you see the flag outside of town hall?"

Jake nodded. "U.S. flag. Fifty stars. Quite symbolic."

"Yes. And a good reminder that what's happening now means something. What you did means something, Jake. Ready to have high schools named after you?"

Jake took a swig of his drink, then replied with a lopsided smile, "Hell no."

"I always thought I was patriotic, but until I was faced with losing our country, losing the people I love, I never fully grasped patriotism."

"I hear I wasn't the only busy one in the last six months. That code you used to get messages to Columbus, how you piggy-backed messages using Cheyenne's own communications systems. That was impressive. How'd you learn to do that?"

Heather laughed lightly, deflecting the praise. "I knew a guy once."

Jake recognized his own words being thrown back to him. "I'm guessing you didn't blow him up."

Heather laughed. "Can't say I'm regretting that lack of popularity in junior high now! Who knew a simple binary code would be considered so revolutionary_? Literally_?"

"Binary Code Club. Where no 1's a 0."

They both groaned at the bad joke.

"You hungry?" Jake asked.

"Wow. You are a gracious loser tonight, after all. Springing for food _and_ drinks?"

"I figure I owe you." He slid off his barstool, his expression serious. "Want to go grab a booth?"

She nodded and followed where he led. They settled in a corner booth, Jake sliding in after her. He sat close and stretched an arm on the back of the seat. Being close to him was making it difficult to maintain her composure, and how she needed to maintain it! "What do you mean you owe me? It was just a game of darts." Heather's brows furrowed as she tried to imagine what made Jake think he owed her anything. A few drinks, maybe. But that was it, and that was only in good fun.

"Not just for the dart game." He paused, shaking his head slightly as he bit the inside of his mouth. "I wasn't a good friend to you, Heather."

"Come on! Where is this coming from?" she scoffed. The last thing she wanted to do was relive the past. It was too messy, too embarrassing.

"Before I left for Rogue River, you kissed me. Then I didn't follow up." How many women had kissed him in his life? Dozens? He wasn't even sure, it was all a blur. But one kiss that wasn't a blur was that kiss on Main Street. It was crisp, forever on the edge of his memory. He still recalled the worry in Heather's eyes as he readied to leave for Rogue River, the litany of warnings she gave him about her truck, and how she'd surprised him with an unplanned goodbye kiss. He remembered the gentle curves of her body as he had pulled her closer and held her. Her lips had been warm and soft, as she gave, as she took. She had tasted of cinnamon and mint, of goodness and innocence. She reminded him of what was right in the world, even when there was so much darkness around him.

Heather looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath, and then met his eyes. She tried her best to sound nonchalant though she had felt foolish and hurt and angry. What did it matter now? Regrets weren't going to change anything. "Jake, it's okay. You weren't interested. No big deal. I didn't lose sleep over it. Well, maybe a little, but that was practically a lifetime ago."

"I _was_ interested," he corrected her. He had been so sure he was going to hurt her in the long run that he figured it would be better to hurt her in the short run.

Heather pursed her lips, the look on her face reminding Jake of that day when he and Hawkins had approached Heather for help and how wounded she had been. "Why are you telling me this?"

That day wouldn't leave him in peace, either. "Because you deserve an apology and more. I also put you in a bad position when I asked you to steal those papers from Beck's office." His voice softened. "When I saw you tonight, I wasn't sure you'd even want to see me."

She tucked her hair behind her ears and then folded her hands in her lap in an effort not to nervously play with her fingers. "Jake, I'm not some delicate flower. Yes, I was disappointed. Disappointed that I'd agree to betray someone I care about. Disappointed with myself that all it took for me to do that was you asking." Heather paused, remembering the hold Jake had over her. She still felt the familiar tug. "But I don't live my life dwelling on disappointments. I meant it when I said that I am glad you're back."

His voice remained neutral. "So you and Beck…?"

"Okay. Awkward." Her face felt flushed. In the dim light of Bailey's and their close proximity, could Jake see this? It occurred to her to tell him to mind his own business, but she wanted him to know she hadn't been waiting for him. She _needed_ him to know. Exhaling loudly, she finally said, "That's complicated."

"Simplify it for me." It was a gentle command, perhaps one that would not have hit Heather so hard if she could put what was happening into adequate words.

"Sure. I'll get right on that once someone simplifies it for _me._ I care about him. He cares about me."

Jake's jaw line hardened. "He's a damn lucky man."

Heather's hand found a string on her jeans, and she couldn't help but tug at it nervously as she spoke. "Well, he's out there somewhere doing his job, and I'm here doing mine, so neither of us is getting very lucky. With relationships, I mean." She paused, realizing how her words could be construed as a double entendre and groaned. "That so didn't need to be said."

"It's just me, Heather. I've said and done far worse. Intentionally."

Heather nearly snorted. There was no such thing as 'Just Jake.' He really didn't know how special he was to her. "So what's your grand scheme? Stick around here?"

"That's the plan," Jake replied. "For the time being. I'm sure there will be things to come up, things I'll need to take care of, but I've been gone long enough."

"Good," she replied smoothing the front of his jacket, feeling the coarseness under her fingertips. His eyes fell to her hand before he reached down and took it in his own. Her eyes fluttered slightly before she continued, "There's a lot of work to be done. Folks'll be glad to have you back. You'll give them hope." She fell silent before adding, "Hmmm."

"What?" His fingers stroked her palm lightly causing her heart to quicken.

The way Jake held her hand was more than friendly, and sitting next to him, she found herself wanting so much more. Suddenly all her talk of not having regrets went out the window as she began to speak, as reality set in that he was back, she would be going, and for the first time, regretted it, regretted the possibility she would be leaving behind. "Just thinking how ironic this is. You left Jericho. I moved to Jericho to teach. You came back to Jericho. I left for New Bern. I came back to Jericho. You left for Cheyenne and then Texas. You came back to Jericho, and now I'm leaving for Columbus."

Jake felt like the wind had been knocked out of him and spoke more forcefully than he'd intended. "You're leaving?"

"Yep."

His mind was racing. "When?"

"Tomorrow. I'm consulting with President Charles. This code has netted me some political capital and given me the President's ear. I intend to use that capital." Heather had many issues dear to her heart that needed addressing, issues that she feared were being overlooked. "I also have another little project." Perhaps 'little' was an understatement, but she felt ridiculous when she spoke of the specifics.

"It's still not safe out there," Jake said glumly.

"Compared to how it used to be? I'm ready for this, Jake. I've been trying to do so many small things to make a difference, but I have the opportunity to make a difference on a bigger scale." She shook her head ruefully. "I must sound so naïve to you."

"No," he disagreed gently. "You sound hopeful."

"I'm a big girl. I'm ready for this," she repeated. "Besides, having a full military escort sure isn't going to hurt. Guess it pays to have friends in high places. I'm going to be fine."

She spoke cheerily, almost too cheerily. It reminded Jake of when she left for New Bern, plunging full speed ahead into hell. Could he let her do this? Could he let her leave knowing that she might never come back? But as he looked at the excitement in her eyes, the fiery determination, how could he compete with that? He couldn't make promises, not with things being unfinished with Emily, not with things being unsettled all around them.

He cocooned her hand between both of his. "You better. Or else."

"Or else? Or else _what_?"

_Or else some of the goodness and hope will be gone from my life. Or else I'll never have the chance to… _Jake's eyes widened in realization. Over the course of his months away, his thoughts kept returning to her. He never thought about why that was until now. He wanted her, and she wanted someone else and a different life than Jericho had to offer.

So when he spoke, he camouflaged his feelings. He owed her this. He owed it to her to let go.

For now.

"Or else I won't have anyone who can kick my ass in darts."


	3. Part 3: A Tradition Evolves

**Author's Notes:** A special thanks goes out to Skyrose, my esteemed beta reader.  
**Warnings:** mild profanity  
**Disclaimer:** Obviously I don't own the Jericho characters, but if I did, you can look at this story to see just what I would do with them. ;)

* * *

**Part Three: A Tradition Evolves  
****  
**October 31, 2008  
twenty-five months after the bombs

"Say hi to Uncle Jake, Lindee." Stanley Richmond eyeballed his oldest friend, saw the cut along his cheekbone, and grinned. "Maybe you can tell him to stop opening doors with his face."

"Haha," Jake replied halfheartedly. Though looking at Lindee, he couldn't help but soften his sullen expression. The homemade pumpkin costume Lindee Richmond wore, combined with her plump features, had Jake Green convinced that she was the most adorable baby who had ever lived. Not that he'd been around many babies. Truthfully, he had avoided them in the past. Too needy. Too fragile. But as Stanley handed his daughter over to him, Jake held the baby close, shook his head, and chuckled gently. "Only you, Stanley."

"What?"

"Only you would bring your baby into a bar."

"It's a tavern," Stanley corrected pointing his thumb to the large Bailey's Tavern sign which hung on the back wall.

"And you really think Mimi would be all right with this?" Jake asked, an image of Stanley's wife with her arms crossed in disapproval coming to mind.

Stanley shrugged. "Mimi would be fine. Especially since we aren't going to tell her."

"How's she feeling?"

"Still under the weather. Having a hard time shaking her stomach bug."

Jake smirked. "Maybe it's not a bug. Maybe she's—"

"Don't. Don't even say it, Jake," Stanley interrupted. "What are you trying to do? Jinx me?"

"It could happen."

"Not till we get this one out of diapers." Stanley's eyes fixed on his eight month old daughter, and in some ways, it was like stepping back in time. He remembered Bonnie as a baby—the same round cheeks, the bright eyes the color of aged pennies. Sometimes the similarities between Lindee and Bonnie were startling. Mimi joked all the time that if she hadn't been there for Lindee's birth, she would've thought there was no way Lindee could belong to her based on appearance alone. Yet Stanley could see Mimi in his daughter, too, mostly from the expressions she sometimes wore that mirrored her mother's, but there was no denying that Lindee also reminded him of his little sister.

Stanley reached out, played with Lindee's hand, and beamed when the baby grabbed onto his finger. "That's my girl. Strong as you can be." Stanley turned his focus to Jake. "What about you?"

"What _about_ me?"

"When are you going to settle down? Start a family?"

Jake nearly snorted. For the better part of his life, he had a difficult time wrapping his brain around the concept. Getting married and having children just didn't seem to part of the deal. When he left Jericho, he wanted to get as far away as he could from everyone's expectations of him. Now that Jake was finally settled and could offer some semblance of stability—as much as stability as could be had under their circumstances—there was no one he wanted to be with. No one except _her_, but she'd been gone for a long time. He thought at one point they might be able to make a go of it, but their timing was always off. "Looks like I'll just have to live vicariously through you." Lindee began to fuss, so Jake repositioned her so she could look over his shoulder.

"When did it happen, Jake?" Stanley asked watching kids run by outside on the sidewalk. "When did we get _old_?"

Jake scowled. "Speak for yourself. We're gonna live to be a hundred. Remember? This isn't old."

Stanley tilted his head toward the window and saw a group of teenagers hanging around outside. "That used to be us. You ever miss it?"

"Hell no. We had some good times, but no."

"Hey, remember that time we went out to Crazy Harold's Bridge on Halloween?" Like many other small towns, Jericho had its share of urban legends. This particular one dealt with an old railroad worker named Harold who, as the story goes, was decapitated while working on the railroad. Legend says that if a person stops his car on the bridge at midnight, the car won't start, but he will see the light from Harold's lantern coming down the tracks as Harold searches for his head.

"Harold's probably still looking for his head. Should be easier to find now that it's probably glow-in-the-dark." Jake rubbed the baby's back as her body relaxed against him, and her head rested on his shoulder. She was nearly asleep.

Stanley was lost in his reverie. "Mmmm. The McElvoy sisters. Six pack of beer. _Perfection_. That was probably the best Halloween ever. They were _very_ friendly. Until you saw the light coming down the railroad tracks. You got so freaked out you spilled beer on yourself."

Jake groaned. "But it looked like I had pissed on myself. Yeah. I remember that now. Thanks, Stanley. Needed that."

As a teen, he had prided himself on not being scared of anything, always willing to thumb his nose at authority, but that incident had been the exception.

It took a few weeks before his dad admitted it was him with the lantern that night. Johnston Green had caught wind, thanks to Eric, that Jake and Stanley were at the bridge with girls, drinking. Teaching him a lesson by scaring the hell out of his son had evidently been too good to pass up.

Jake swallowed hard. His father never could stand to let him think he'd gotten away with something. In the last months of his father's life, they had worked to move beyond the conflicts of Jake's youth.

"C'mon. It doesn't get better than that. It was priceless!"

Jake glanced over at the dart board. That was where Stanley was wrong. It did get better than that. Briefly, he thought he could still see Heather playing darts—how easily she laughed, the bounce in her step, the twinkle in her eyes as she enjoyed her role as victor and teased him mercilessly over being beaten by a girl. He would never underestimate her as he once had.

And not just when a game of darts was at stake.

"_Glad I could make it." _

And now he was going crazy. Not only was he seeing her in his mind's eye, he was hearing her.

"Look! Heather's on the TV."

Jake turned upon hearing Stanley's words.

"Wow, she looks great. No sign of a grease monkey there."

"Yeah," Jake murmured as a close up of her face appeared on screen. "She does." The camera panned away from Heather to focus on the interviewer and the interviewee.

"_It took some convincing to get you here." _

Jake recognized the interviewer from before the bombs. He wore his trademark suspenders, glasses, and button-up shirt and sat across a table from Heather, who looked positively vibrant, her youth and beauty a contrast to his wrinkled countenance. Her glossy brown hair was pulled away from her face, making her delicate features more stunning.

"_Yeah," _she admitted with a smile._ "It did."_

"_Why is that? I'm not scary. If you can take on Cheyenne, surely an old guy like me isn't that intimidating." _His gravelly voice showed amusement. He was trying to make his guest feel comfortable before the real questions began. Jake had seen it before.

"_You'd be surprised," Heather replied wryly. "I'm not used to being the center of attention."_

"_Come on. Everyone knows who you are."_

The smallest of smiles formed on Jake's lips. Wasn't that the truth? Before she went to Columbus, she'd been the voice of the resistance. The code she had devised enabled communication right under Cheyenne's collective nose. In the year since she'd left Jericho, she had become quite well-known as the face of the resistance, telling stories of survival, stories of optimism, relaying information and hope. In fact, when he and Hawkins had been in Columbus for the Fourth of July remembrance ceremony, Jake had tried to look up Heather and was met with a wall of another type of resistance. Her staffers refused to let him near. His name may have been recognizable to them, but his face wasn't. Not the way Heather's face was recognizable. And with all the crazies out there who wanted to kidnap her for the information she held, Jake could not blame them for being protective.

And so the next day he attended a public forum at which she lectured on the Charles Administration's plans for reconstruction and the role of education. He still remembered how she spoke without the aid of notes with such confidence, how her eyes scanned the crowd, and the way she could connect with people. More than anything, Jake remembered the look on her face when their eyes locked. Joy had mingled with disbelief. For a moment, Jake thought that she might run off the stage and straight to him. Instead, she completed her speech, took questions for what felt like an eternity, and then disappeared. Jake had been disappointed until two security personnel approached him and invited him backstage to see her.

He remembered the way she held onto him so tightly when she saw him. How her eyes shined with happiness and her voice was imbued with pride as she introduced him to her staff. "This is Jake Green. I've told you about him."

"You've told them about me?"

"You're the hero of Kansas, Jake. You and Mr. Hawkins." Her lashes lowered as she smiled and added with a hint of self-consciousness, "And you're my hero, too."

"_But it's not about me. It's never been about me. I bring attention to the issues, to what's going on with our troops, to how we can better our way of life, raise our standard of living, more effectively meet the needs of ourselves and our neighbors, particularly the young." _Her voice softened and bespoke her compassion._ "We've had the worst thing imaginable happen to our country, but this is an opportunity for us as individuals to make a difference, to band together and do what needs to be done." _

"_Some people would call that naïve." _

"_Well, I might agree with 'some people'—except that we have seen this administration back up ideas with action. Action that is getting results."_

"She's annoyed," Stanley remarked.

Jake nodded in agreement. He could tell by the little crinkle between her eyes. He had seen that of hers look directed at him a time or he tried to keep her from going to Black Jack with them, he had seen it. And when he insisted that she have round-the-clock protection after a foiled kidnapping attempt during his visit to Columbus, he had seen the same look of exasperation. She kept her cool in the words she spoke as she methodically made her argument, but her expression gave away her thoughts and feelings on the matter.

She was the most stubborn woman! If he had not been there with her…but he was. And still she refused the secret service detail offered by President Charles. She didn't want the intrusion into her life. If the code talkers would slightly change their way of doing things, she argued, she would be of no use to Cheyenne anymore. She would be able to do her current job without the threat of someone trying to force her to turn traitor.

That didn't make Jake feel any better. If she was no longer useful from an intelligence standpoint, that didn't mean that she would be free and clear from threats. In fact, if anything, it would guarantee that those who did try to take her would do so, not for the purpose of gathering information but for a propaganda victory of their own. Heather was considered a modern version of an Ethel Rosenberg to Cheyenne, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that they would love nothing more than to use her to further their own causes.

Try telling that to her.

He had been to her house in Jericho a time or two, albeit briefly, and he recalled how homey it had been, from the abundance of cross stitched pillows on her sofa, to the photographs of family and friends, to the collection of books on her bookshelf. It even smelled like home, sweet and spicy, a combination of apples and cinnamon.

Her apartment in Columbus was far more utilitarian with few trinkets. When Jake saw it for the first time, he could tell how little time she actually spent there. She mumbled apologies to him for not having a more hospitable place for them to get caught up, but as Jake watched her flit around the apartment, picking up piles of clothes that needed to be washed, he couldn't think of a place he would rather be.

And he'd told her so.

He had never considered himself a particularly heartfelt speaker. He preferred action to words, but considering that what he really wanted to do would only net him a mountain of trouble, he had to let words suffice.

That night, Jake made the all important discovery that Heather was not territorial when it came to her kitchen. They cooked together, talked and laughed, reminisced and learned more about the other. He told her of Lindee, of Eric and Mary's plans to get married, of his mother's return to Jericho, of Emily's engagement, of some of her former students and their families. He detailed the efforts to rebuild the infrastructure of not just Jericho, but surrounding areas now that much of the fighting had moved northward. He spoke of Phil Constantino, killed at the hands of one of his own men.

Heather wanted to know about Jake's experiences, and he found himself telling her things that he had kept private: His doubts at times that they would make it to the next week, his striving to be the type of man his father would have respected, his struggle to be diplomatic in his job when a good portion of the time he wouldn't mind solving his problem with a quick meeting of the fists rather than a meeting of the minds.

As he prepared to leave for the night, he found himself lingering at the door, not wanting to walk through it. How long would it be before he saw her again? He considered laying everything on the line, telling her how he felt, asking her to return to Jericho with him. In his moment's hesitation, she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his cheek. "Thanks for bringing me a piece of home, Jake."

He looked at her, so self-assured, so successful, so important to the resistance movement, and he could not bring himself to do it. He couldn't make her doubt her choices, not when so much was at stake. So he left and knew without a doubt that he was a glutton for punishment. She'd told him that he'd given her a piece of home, but what she didn't realize was that in seeing her, she'd given him a sense of home, as well.

"_Home is—home is not here. Columbus has grown by leaps and bounds, no doubt about it, and there are many opportunities here, but it's not home. "_

"_You're originally from a small town in Kansas."_

_"Right. New Bern, Kansas. My father was a minister and my mother worked at an auto body shop." _The image on screen shifted from the interviewer and Heather to a photo of her parents standing outside her father's church building with a very young Heather between them.

"_Yet here you are in the nation's capital, an advisor to the President, a figure to millions. How did you get from Point A to Point B?"_

"_In a very roundabout way. I had inspiration. I was teaching in Jericho, Kansas. Third grade. On the day of the attacks, my class and I were traveling back from a field trip. We'd had bus problems, had some repairs done, and were running late when a deer ran out in front of the bus. Turns out it was spooked by the mushroom cloud on the horizon."_

"_Were you in danger of fallout?"_

"_No. Kansas is pretty flat. Something will seem close when it's miles away. Can be aggravating on road trips but on this day, that was definitely a good thing. A mushroom cloud rising miles into the atmosphere—well, that's visible from a hundred miles away."_

"_So what happened next?"_

" _I can still remember the jolt. We were thrown so hard. The kids were scared and crying. Our bus driver died in the crash, and I had a broken leg and couldn't drive. A couple of the kids went for help, and did they ever bring back help!" _

"_They brought back Jake Green,"_ the interviewer said hurrying along Heather's story. _"The hero of Kansas."_

"Guess I know what you're going as for Halloween," Stanley smirked.

Jake sighed. He didn't feel like a hero.

"_He brought with him a fierce determination, but it was about more than mere survival. He wanted our town to make it, too. Over and over, I saw him put himself on the line." _Heather paused briefly, her voice becoming more reflective._ "In some ways, I think he's the reason I'm here today. I could have stayed in my relatively safe life, but he encouraged me and others like me to use whatever skills we possessed to better our community. Through it all, he never forgot that life isn't just survival—living and breathing. It's also about being humane. Looking out for neighbors, offering a helping hand, caring about something bigger than oneself."_

Stanley rolled his eyes. "Forget I said that. We should fit you for your halo."

"Shut up."

"_On a different note, some of your critics have argued that you're nothing but an extension of the Charles administration, a propagandist."_

_"Well, here's what I have to say to that. I am so grateful to live in a country where people have the right to disagree with my viewpoints, to criticize me without fear of retribution. Their criticisms are, of course, totally wrong, but they have the right to be wrong." _A light laugh escaped her lips before her tone became far more serious._ "There are still people out there who don't have that freedom—that freedom of speech. Look, I can't please everybody all of the time. What I can do is my very best to get information out, to tell the real stories of what is going on out there. I can offer hope because I do believe wholeheartedly that liberty will prevail. This fight has been taken to Cheyenne's back yard, and as information becomes more available, entire A.S.A. regiments are lowering their weapons and refocusing their efforts. They're rejoining the U.S. military. That cannot be ignored. That's not propaganda. That's not spin. That's fact. People have been lied to, kept in the dark, which means we have a responsibility to reach out and shine light on what has happened, to let them know that this Cheyenne-based government is an illegitimate government hell bent on overthrowing the United States and subjugating its citizens."_

The interviewer took a deep breath, appearing taken aback by the ferocity of Heather's impromptu speech._ "Any plans to run for office in the future?"_

Heather shook her head. _"I'm a third grade teacher, not a politician."_

The interviewer looked directly into the camera. _"We'll return with more of our exclusive interview with Heather Lisinski, face of the resistance, after a brief word from our sponsors."_

"Wow," Stanley said eyeing Jake. "She completely talked you up. You've been holding out on me. What happened with the two of you this summer in Columbus?"

Jake reluctantly handed Lindee over to her father, though that reluctance was met with an eagerness to change the subject. "Better get her home before too many people see you here with her and tell Mimi."

"You really think I'm afraid of Mimi?"

"Well, she is scary, Stanley."

"Seriously, Jake. What happened?"

"Absolutely nothing," Jake replied.

And that was the problem.

* * *

"So a nun walks into a bar…"

That voice. The familiar, cheerful cadence he knew so well. Jake Green spun around taking in the sight of Heather Lisinski—dressed in a nun's habit. He blinked several times, not trusting his eyes. Had he had too much to drink? Was he hallucinating?

"I know. I know. I look like a bad joke, so I might as well make one. But it is Halloween, though, right?" Heather pulled the wimple from her head and set down the small duffle bag she carried.

Without speaking, Jake bridged the distance between them and puller her into his arms. He felt her ball her hands against his chest, clinging to the long-sleeved t-shirt he wore. "Heather!" her name came out as a sigh. He kissed the top of her head, pulled back slightly, and studied her. Even wearing the shapeless, long black dress, she looked beautiful, even more so than he remembered, from the sapphire blue of her eyes to the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose on her otherwise peaches and cream complexion. He smoothed her hair, feelings its glossiness. "You look good."

Heather studied him. Jake's hair was cut short, much like Heather remembered it from when they'd first met. She lifted her hand to his cheek. There was barely a trace of stubble, though an angry-looking scrape caught her attention across the top of his right cheekbone. Even so, he looked so incredibly handsome to her, and suddenly, she felt the butterflies forming in the pit of her stomach as they used to do every time she encountered him, just as they had when she had been giving her speech in Columbus and saw him in the audience. Trying to maintain her cool, she teased, "You just can't stay out of trouble, can you?"

"You should see the other guy," Jake joked.

Heather tilted her head, throwing him a look of reproach that soon evaporated into a gentle smile.

"Would you believe I did that walking into a door?" he asked with a grin.

"Um, no."

"Okay, okay. I was trying to break down a door," he admitted with a chuckle.

"Ever hear of a doorknob?"

He shook his head ruefully. "When did you get back?"

"Mmmm. About five minutes ago."

"Didn't know you were coming," Jake commented finally letting go of her, though as soon as he did, he immediately missed the warmth of her body.

"Neither did I until yesterday," she confessed, "but I didn't want to miss our Halloween tradition." Clasping her hands together, she turned away from him briefly before facing him again. "I saw that they were having a big party on Main Street. Why aren't you out there?"

His dark eyes met her blue eyes. "I didn't want to miss our Halloween tradition," he echoed.

"So," she began taking a step closer to him, "what are our stakes?"

"Let's make them negotiable this year."

* * *

"I can't believe it. I've lost my touch!" Heather covered her face in mock horror.

"You're not bad. I'm just better."

Heather widened her fingers slightly, enabling her to peek at him. His eyes shined with mischief. "Beating me once doesn't make you an expert, Jake Green."

"No, but it does mean that I get something from you."

She crossed her arms. "So those negotiable stakes you mentioned…am I at your mercy?"

"You are." His voice was low, husky.

She nodded once, her voice resolute. "I'm okay with that."

"Why don't we…"

"Heather Lisinski, is that really you?" The next several minutes were spent with Mrs. McVeigh, the former principal of Jericho Elementary—and Heather's former boss—firing a series of questions at a dizzying speed. This attracted the attention of a few others who had not noticed Heather when she was in her habit costume. However, now she was more easily recognizable after removing the habit and revealing the jeans and casual sweater she wore underneath.

And then it all seemed to snowball. Other well wishers, friends, and fans surrounded Heather. Jake's eyes surveyed the crowd; he knew all these people who were now crowding him out, forcing more distance between Heather and himself. Still he kept an eye on them all, watching for any sign that someone might have less than friendly intentions toward her. He watched as she politely and warmly greeted them and answered their questions--about what President Charles was really like, how much longer she thought the war would last, what would happen to Tomarchio when he was captured, what news she had from other places.

She answered them all, but her eyes sought Jake. _I'm sorry_, she seemed to say to him with her expression, before turning her attention back to those who shared their stories of what she had missed in Jericho, milestones of her former students from their proud parents, and as they bespoke their admiration for her.

As soon as it was courteous to do so, Heather excused herself, found her way to Jake's side, and clutched his arm. "What do you say we get out of here?"

He could appreciate the fact that she took the time to visit with them all and the ease with which she handled herself, but he was ready to have her all to himself. "Just what I was going to suggest." Taking his jacket from a chair, he wrapped it around her shoulders.

"What's this for?" she asked, the warmth and strength of his hands making her voice pitch higher than she had intended.

"Has a hood. You'll be less conspicuous."

Heather laughed lightly. She had never considered herself to be a particularly noticeable person. She had always blended into the background. In high school and college, she was the girl that people thought looked familiar but that they couldn't quite place. She sometimes forgot that she had traded in her anonymity.

Together they walked out of Bailey's and down the street to where Jake had parked his car in the lot behind town hall earlier that day. They stopped at the passenger side as he unlocked the door for her. "I never did thank you for this."

"For what?" Heather asked pushing the hood from her head.

"The car. I figured it would be either burned out in New Bern or parked in Phil Constantino's driveway."

"I'm glad I could get it working for you, Jake." It had taken a few favors, but at the time, she had some pull with Major Edward Beck. Ted Lewis had told her where the car was, and Edward had been more than willing to assign his men to haul it back on one of their runs to New Bern. "Though I did have some help getting it here, and Stanley was nice enough to let me work on it in his barn."

Jake fell silent for a moment, realizing just who had likely helped her get it to Jericho, before finally speaking. "Stanley says you worked on it a long time. Why didn't you say anything about it?"

Heather shrugged slightly. "I-I don't know. I just wanted you to have it back. It wasn't important how."

"But it is to me. You amaze me, Heather. I never know from one moment to the next what I'm going to get with you."

"So is she working well?"

"She?"

"Surely the car is a she. Don't tell me you gave it a masculine name."

Jake hedged. "Who says I named it at all?"

"Any guy who loves his car as much as I've heard you do surely has a name for her."

Jake reached out, resting his hand on her hip. Heather's question was forgotten as she sucked in a breath and found herself leaning closer to him. "She's perfect."

Heather's mouth felt dry. Jake's tone, the velvet smoothness of his voice, had her mind racing. She could almost believe…_No_. She pushed aside the thought and managed to string together a few coherent sentences, though she felt like she was in danger of jumping out of her skin from his touch. "I'm glad. I don't get to tinker under the hoods of much of anything these days. I miss it."

"You want to go for a ride?"

"I'd like that."

Jake opened the passenger door for Heather who entered the car, settling back in the seat. She watched as Jake walked around the front and opened the driver's side door. Sliding in next to Heather, he turned to her and asked. "Any particular place you want to go?"

"It's been a whole year since I've been here. I-I don't even know where to begin. I'd love to be everywhere at once, to be able to see it all." A small sigh escaped her lips, though she couldn't be sure that Jake noticed. "I think I'm going to have the same problem everywhere I go."

"Not everywhere," Jake replied cryptically.

A few minutes, a few miles, and a few rare hills later, Jake pulled off the side of the road just before reaching a narrow bridge and turned off the engine.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you brought me out here to park," Heather teased.

"Well, you did say you were at my mercy. Come on. I want to show you something." Jake opened his door, and Heather followed suit. Her eyes were still adjusting to the darkness when Jake took her hand and led her to the bridge.

"What is this place?" Heather asked.

"Crazy Harold's Bridge."

"So _this_ is the infamous Crazy Harold's Bridge. I've heard of it, but never really had the chance to come out here." Her eyes scanned their surroundings, now becoming more visible as she grew accustomed to the night. It occurred to her that this was the first time in awhile that she had truly been in the dark—minus the sliver of moon shining overhead. Columbus was a bustling city, and even at night, the sky glowed alight. It was rare to see the stars. Here, though, the stars numbered in the thousands, and Heather felt the familiar pang that she thought she had long since forgotten, the wonder of a universe so vast and the question of her place in the grand scheme of things. "It's beautiful tonight." Her fingers ran along the jacket she wore, realization dawning that she still had it, that the night air was chilly, and all he had was a thin long-sleeved t-shirt. She slid the jacket from her shoulders and began to pass it back to him.

"What are you doing?"

"Giving you back your jacket. I'm getting too warm," she hedged.

"Heather, it's not even 40 degrees out here. No way you're getting too warm."

"Jake—" Heather protested holding out the jacket, which he was hesitant to take.

He watched as a chill ran through her. Still, she held out the jacket. Finally, he took it from her and slipped it on. Rather than zipping it, though, he held it open. "C'mere."

Her brows furrowed, unsure of what he was doing.

"At my mercy, remember?" he added. "Put your back to me."

She complied.

And then she could feel his chest against her back. His body was warm, his breath against her cheek. As Jake wrapped his jacket and arms around her, Heather found herself nestling against him, comfortable, warm. "You said you wanted to see all of Jericho." He spoke softly into her ear, sending shivers of delight through her, which he mistook for cold. He responded by holding her more tightly.

"Mmmm. I did."

Jake turned their bodies to face the opposite direction. "There it is."

Sure enough, from this high point—the only higher point in the area was on the Richmond Farm—Heather could see the lights of the town in the distance. The colors seemed to dance across her eyes and then blur.

_Home._ And yet it wasn't home.

"It looks so small," she managed through the lump that formed in her throat.

"I used to think too small. Never thought I'd be back here, and now I can't imagine not being here."

"I miss it a lot, Jake."

"You can always come back."

He felt her sigh against him. "Maybe when the war is over. When things get back to normal. Whatever normal is."

Jake could not mistake the wistfulness in her voice. "You doing okay out there?"

Heather opened her mouth to assure him she was, but could not muster the false cheer needed. It seemed wrong somehow to spin tales to Jake—Jake who knew better than anyone else the suffering going on around them, who had seen the worst in human nature and lived to fight another day. Her hesitation was evident as she finally spoke. "When I was little, maybe about five or six, my dad got me a cat. I had begged and begged for one and made all the promises that kids make—though probably not for the reasons you'd think. See, I'd heard that cats always land on their feet, so I decided to test this hypothesis. I stood on the porch of our house and threw the cat off the porch over and over. Sure enough, the cat landed on her feet. Granted, the cat didn't like me very much after that, mostly because I'd chase her down and try it again with the same results. And don't even get me started on the trouble I got into when my dad found out what I was doing." She paused briefly, lost in thought. "I'm like that cat, Jake. I get tossed around a bit from time to time, but I always land on my feet."

"I don't want you to just be landing on your feet, Heather. I want you to be happy."

"I'm happy right now, Jake, being here with you on this beautiful night. Let's just enjoy it."

"Deal."

"So, anyone special in your life?"

Jake chuckled. "You really have to ask?"

"Of course I do!" Heather laughed. "I mean, it's been four months since last time I saw you. I figured that there'd be _someone_ to snatch you up. Any man that can give a woman all of Jericho at once—that's pretty extraordinary."

Jake tightened his hold on Heather, enjoying the feel of her body against his. There had been offers. Silvia Mayes had been, perhaps, the most aggressive, leaving baked goods for him at work, finding excuses to drop by the ranch, all the time wearing low cut tops to accentuate her assets. In another time in his life, Jake probably would've been grateful for the distraction that Silvia undoubtedly was more than happy to provide, but now he deemed her to be a nuisance, one that he gently put off. Even Emily had made an overture once while in the midst of a prolonged argument with her fiancé, but that ship had sailed for Jake long ago. No one compared to the woman he now held in his arms. It was both a blessing and a curse. "Excluding goddaughters, no one else in Jericho." Heather relaxed slightly, relief washing over her that Jake was unattached. "What about you?"

She almost found his question laughable. Her life was a constant barrage of names and faces, meetings and traveling. Her only respite from all of that was in the school where she held a science lab with fifth graders once a week, schedule permitting. This fact wasn't something for public consumption, and few outside of President Charles's circle knew about it, but that hour and a half spent each week with the school kids was what kept her sane most of the time. "I meet a lot of special people, Jake, but not like you're thinking."

"And Beck?" As much as he strove to keep the strain from his voice when he asked, as much as he tried to sound casual, Jake couldn't help the contempt that seeped out.

Heather was taken aback. Truth be told, she had not thought of Edward Beck in the context of a romantic relationship in a very long time. When they first met, he had seemed so unattainable, so by-the-book. He brought order to the chaos that surrounded her—briefly. And then he brought chaos. It started with a chink in his armor, a few furtive glances, and then the armor was gone, and laid before her was the man. The man who diligently followed orders, the man haunted by his family, the man who opened his eyes to the truth too late for some and too soon for others. Heather could get over her imprisonment by him. She technically _was_ a traitor, and he had to follow protocol. He had more than made up for that when he renounced his association with the A.S. Army. It was what Heather discovered later—that Edward had tortured Jake—that made her question his character. It was that conflict that arose repeatedly. "Let's just say that there were some things I couldn't get past."

"Would you think I'm a total bastard for being glad?"

"I don't believe I could ever think that about you." Her eyes fell onto the lights of the town before Heather closed them, picturing the merriment she saw on Main Street. Some might have found it silly for a Halloween celebration to continue when so many terrible things had happened, but Heather saw it more as an affirmation that they were among the living and were going to live life to the fullest. "Columbus has nothing on this place. I'm already dreading going back."

Jake stiffened. "Why'd you come back now, Heather?"

Her eyes sprang open. "We have a tradition, and I am a traditional girl."

"So you drove 900 miles to uphold a tradition?"

"Well, I didn't drive _all _of it. I did catch a supply transport to St. Louis. And then a supply flight to Tulsa before continuing here by vehicle. It helps to know people—and evidently it also helps to dress like a nun when traveling along dangerous routes." She groaned, realizing how frivolous her tone sounded as she evaded telling him her real reason for returning, albeit briefly. "Oh, who am I kidding? I taped an interview the other day—"

"I know. I saw it at Bailey's before you arrived."

"Then you know I found myself talking about you. A lot." She fell silent momentarily as she sorted through her thoughts. "That interview brought up so many memories. I know that I can't live in the past. Truthfully, I'm not really sure I'd want to. I just—I just had this sense that there are unfinished things between us."

"And you want to finish them?"

"No, that's just it. I _don't _want to finish them. Look, I will understand if you don't feel the same way, and I know this is coming about suddenly, and there are so many reasons I should just keep my mouth shut, but—" Heather's heart sank as she felt Jake let go of her and step back. She clenched her eyes for a few seconds, which, to her, felt like the equivalent of an eternity. She forced herself to turn and face him. "I'm sorry. This is awkward. I said too much. I do that sometimes. Talk too much, I mean. Just forget I said anything."

Amusement shone on Jake's features. He reached out, stroking her cheek. "You're right about one thing. You do talk too much." And then his lips were upon hers, cool, a contrast to his warm breath. His hands moved downward, spanning her waist, and pulling her close to him. This was different from their kiss on Main Street so long ago. That kiss had been sweet and comparatively chaste. This time, Heather could taste the hunger in Jake's kiss, as he held nothing of himself back.

A longing welled within her as she struggled to get closer to him—and yet she couldn't get close enough. She whimpered slightly feeling his lips leave hers and travel to her neck, feasting on her tender flesh. When he returned his attention to her swollen lips, she was eager to meet his kisses, reveling in the sensation of his tongue sparring with hers, the coarseness of the stubble on his chin and cheeks against her skin, and the evidence of his desire for her.

She could barely catch her breath when he broke the kiss, overwhelmed by how quickly it had gotten out of control. "Wh-what was that?"

Leaning his forehead against hers, a light chuckle escaped from him. "If you have to ask, I must be doing something wrong."

"Maybe we should try it again." Her eyes twinkled. "Just so I can study this for further analysis."

"Way better than getting thrown off the porch," he murmured, which elicited a giggle from her before he stifled it with another kiss.

Heather felt her back press against the railing of the bridge. Breathless for more of his kisses, desperate to be closer to him, she arched her body. Her hands worked at the hem of his shirt, running them up his back. He nearly jumped out of his skin and began laughing, breaking away from their kiss, amid her silent protest.

"Your hands are like ice! Temperature's dropping. I gotta get you out of this cold."

Heather dropped her hands, which he immediately clutched between his own. She fought the urge to bury her head against his chest. "I don't want to go back. Going back—that's going to make all of this feel like an impossibility."

"More than two years ago, I was on my way out of town. I was angry, never planning on coming back. I never should've met you. You were going your way, and I was going mine. Then I saw a mushroom cloud on the horizon. A car crashed into me, I began to walk, and those kids—they led me to you. So many things have led back to you, Heather, and I was too stubborn or too foolish to listen. But now—look, I know I'm not as good a man as you deserve, the things I've done…" his voice trailed off briefly. "But I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you go this time." He shook his head slightly. "I've been joking that you're at my mercy, but the truth is, I'm at yours."

"Oh wow. I don't know what to say."

"You can start by telling me that you'll stay for awhile in Jericho. You're due for some time off, right? Gotta be some advantage to being the face of the resistance."

"I've got a week."

"Where you staying?"

"Um…good question. My house, I think. Provided that I can bum some firewood."

Jake pulled his jacket around her again and held her close. "Stay with me. This week." His lips nibbled at her ear. "And next." And moved along her jaw line. "And all the ones after that." He caressed her lips with his own, bringing forth a deep sigh of contentment from her.

Heather's head was swimming in a sea of emotions and sensations. She broke away from him, her skin flushed, her breath ragged. "I have a week. After that…" her voice trailed off as he rubbed her fingers, trying to warm them. "This is a new tradition for us, Jake. We should've picked a warmer time of the year to make out at Crazy Harold's Bridge."

"It has to start somewhere." His right eyebrow shot up. "Besides, you owe me."

"Pardon me?"

"I won at darts, fair and square, and I intend to collect. Now for those terms."

"Right. That we agreed were negotiable. Lucky for you your aim improved," she teased gently.

"You don't know the half of it," he replied brushing his lips against hers again. He moved his hands to her hair, smoothing its glossy coolness. "I've spent the better part of my life being aimless, drifting. Now I know what I want more than anything. I want to be with you, Heather. And not just for a week. Down the road, when you've done what you need to do in Columbus, I want you to come back here. To me."

Tears stung her eyes. She was home. _Jake_ was her home. "I agree under one condition."

"What's that?"

"Those terms are non-negotiable. Or else."

A broad grin spread over his features. "Or else what?"

"Or else I won't have anyone who I can park with at Crazy Harold's Bridge, who can kick my ass at darts, and…" Jake leaned down and captured her lips with a kiss, and in those moments, all rhyme and reason left her mind. When he pulled away, she groaned slightly in objection. "You made me forget what I was saying," she added, her eyes shining with mirth.

He toyed with her fingers as he spoke, "So we have a whole week. Anything you want to do?"

"I have a few ideas," she replied with a grin. She pulled Jake back to the Roadrunner and on to what would be the beginning of another tradition.

**THE END**


End file.
